On macho culture, dealing with feelings and not feeling physically sick.

“I’ve come a long way. I don’t feel physically sick in the mornings.”

After fifteen months and thirty-six sessions, this was the appraisal of – let’s call him Charles. He had come a long way, but fundamentally he was the same person, perhaps even more himself, without a barrage of self-criticism and negative thoughts that spiralled out of control. Full disclosure: negative thoughts will persist, but they don’t need to spiral. Self-criticism may continue, we don’t need to believe it.  So, how does that happen? How do you stop feeling sick?

Feelings about feelings

Charles was reserved and emphasised his preference for introversion rather than chat. Hmm, I thought, this could be tricky with a “talking cure”. But, to his surprise,  he could always fill the hour, despite his mind being ‘blank’ when we began. “It works – whatever it is that you do” he said early on. I accepted the compliment, noted the scepticism and pointed out the specific nature of our contract; this was unequivocally his time, to say whatever he wanted without judgement.      Privately, my aim was to relax and reassure him; I kept my questions and thoughts in my back pocket, until he was ready to hear them.  

I knew that exploring his feelings was new and that he would  have feelings about feelings. Would he think it stupid? Embarrassing? Self-indulgent? I kept his goal in sight: how would he measure progress? Did he want me to challenge if I thought he was avoiding something? Did he want homework? Was it helping, having  someone invested in his wellbeing – and a dedicated time to sort his head out?

Early progress

After about eight sessions, he felt like he could put down the baggage he’d been carrying: he’d taken on the idea that he was just a human being trying his best.  But he sensed there was more to unpick. By now we met online, but the connection was just as strong. He discussed life, lockdown, work, family. But then we hit a wall. I’d ask a question, about something he’d just said, and it  was as though I was talking another language: it made no sense to him. I decided to acknowledge it, and not to push through; I trusted that we could resolve this, in time.

Off the Map

Of course, he was lost; we’d gone right to the edge of his map of the world and stepped over into a place with no reference points. As his guide, I had to make sure he was OK to move forwards and know when to stop and let him find his bearings.

And I felt for him because I’ve sat in that chair; I’ve felt shattered and adrift.   He hadn’t planned any of this. He came to me because his anxiety was unbearable. He happened to mention it to a colleague, who happened to recommend me. Charles didn’t particularly want to work with his feelings, he didn’t plan to explore the darkest corners of his life - he just wanted to feel less awful: not to fear the crippling depression that rolled in like fog.

Guiding you through

Exploring the roots of his anxiety led to an area that was sealed up: emotions were off limits. Even when he could see the logic of exploring a wound to heal it, it was so unknown, perhaps even taboo, that anything I said was white noise.

When I sensed his absence, I went back and nudged his hand, feeling like a guide-dog, checking where he was, if he wanted to continue. I made sure we went at his pace. I was gentle, patient, but persistent. I didn’t want us to drift; he knew there was something to unpick and he wanted to do it.

Talking as a man

One day, I took a deep breath and ventured that perhaps his upbringing hadn’t encouraged emotional literacy. His reply was honest and prompt:

“I would have seen it [counselling] as weakness. I wasn’t mature enough to accept counselling.”

He habitually blamed himself, so I suggested there were  factors, other people involved in his decisions. Let’s share that responsibility, like a pie. Echoing another ex-serviceman,  who’d also enlisted in his teens, he shook his head at the culture that encouraged drinking rather than talking. “It was very macho” he said.                                

So, we explored what macho meant, if he admired it (no), what other models there were for men, and the pain and difficulty of having values that differ from your workplace.  

Therapy as building strength

He began to have a fuller sense of himself, to see his achievements, and understand his challenges.  He even said, “I’m not so unkind to myself”.  To be fair, he’d tried being judgmental for years and it didn’t work. Why not give understanding a go?

He found that: “Sessions allowed me not to be frightened, to not have the fear of this depression, anxiety and stress.”   He was pragmatic about the future, knowing challenges would arise “but I have the strength to work with them”.

How did it work?

Looking back, I’d say I explained we spent 60% of the time unpicking the grief he hadn’t been able to feel, which had curdled into self-blame and a corrosive sense of shame.  40%, or the second half of the sessions, was him building resilience (his word) to deal with feelings and not be floored by them.

It was essential that I earned his trust.  I asked him how he felt about the sessions (about me) and I kept his goal in sight.  Personally, I try to be open about what I’m doing; I don’t want to have an agenda, other than you feeling better and developing a mindset to  work through stuff. My aim is for you not to need me. As a business model it’s flawed but, therapeutically, it’s sound.

He was motivated and ready to change. Every win, every tweak in his thinking, gave him confidence to keep going. As he said, “I was lucky to find you. But it’s not just the hour, it’s what you put in the rest of the week.”

If you’d like to discuss working together, message me at kavacounselling.com

Photo by Taras Zaluzhnyi on Unsplash